illustrated journal

Archive for February, 2009

There’s what I can take and what becomes too much; the quantity and quality of food I can ingest without being sick; the door that separates my room from the rest of the house. There’s how many articles I can read in a day and how much time I can spend with housemates in the kitchen; the undependable line between sleep and consciousness; the change of atmosphere when a lecture starts. There’s the space between home and England; no sugar or tea that’s too sweet; the covers between books in a pile. Borderlines can be clear, physically perceptible spaces, or blurry and undefinable. While some are consensual, others are contested. Linear versus circular, so many limits in our world and thoughts that divide and create meanings.

In January I decided to start an experiment. During the spring term, I’m not going to buy any meat from a supermarket (except if it’s organic). The idea is to explore alternatives more regularly, learn about the origin of meat, and see if the butcher really costs that much. So far, this system has worked vers well. I buy cheap cuts at the Farmer’s Market and get better meat with good value. I don’t eat huge quantities, only about 3-400 grams a week, and there I can buy just the amount I need. However, I have made two exceptions at Tesco. The first one was when I didn’t find the organic chicken stock I usually buy and chose another brand, and the second was a tin of anchovies I bought there (I didn’t want fresh anchovies). Other than that, I’m a Tesco vegetarian. Overall it’s an interesting experience: I’ve been eating healthy foods from the Goods Shed, which is also eco-friendly (local, no packaging), often tastes better, and doesn’t cost more in the end.

As has become clear to me lately, life is not pink, it’s not particularly sweet, and it doesn’t have much glitter. That’s why I’ve been eating quite a few of these cupcakes, and generally indulging in more tangible pleasures. When I go to Boho, I appreciate the immediate, and quite radical, change of atmosphere which helps me get away from some of the February greyness. Here, you feel like you’re lost somewhere between the 60s and Neverland, or perhaps in an old cabin with a very palpable bohemian touch. With statues of both Jesus and an Indian chief on the window sill, you let the outside world become vague and iconic as you decide wether you’re up for the big, heavy, creamy chocolate cupcake, or would prefer the smaller, brighter, sweeter icing version. The cupcake is not merely a matter of taste, but a question of style, and dare I say it, a statement on life.